


white satin ribbon

by blue_crow



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Child Soldiers, Consensual Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Creepy and yet desired behavior, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Sleepy Sex, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22299430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_crow/pseuds/blue_crow
Summary: Hubert von Vestra spies his classmate Linhardt von Hevring in repose in the monastery's library and becomes obsessed with the youth's sensual vulnerability, especially the way he teases his own lips with his hair ribbon.He has to make sure that Linhardt knows how open he leaves himself to lecherous prying eyes. Especially when they're his own.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 9
Kudos: 104





	white satin ribbon

A soft sigh betrayed that Hubert was not alone in the library.

He froze in place, silently allowing the books he’d been browsing to settle before peering between the shelves. 

A contented moan emanated from a couch across the room, and he was cautious in his steps as he neared.

His classmate Linhardt lay back in the cushions, eyes closed and breath shallow with sleep. The white ribbon he used to bind his hair was in his fingers, pressed to his lips, and eased across them in a slow caress of satin on soft skin. His eyelashes were long on his flushed cheeks, fluttering as he dreamed, a soft huff of breath escaping against his fingers.

Hubert was paralyzed by the sight, his own breath stilled to a crawl. It was indecent for the youth to look so debauched in a public place, so shockingly vulnerable. Anyone could stumble upon him like this, could listen - watch - _touch_ \- 

A door creaked open, ripping him from his reverie, and he averted the hand he’d been allowing to inch towards Linhardt’s soft cheek with a jerk, standing and _casually_ walking away. 

There would have been nothing _wrong_ with touching his classmate, of course. Waking him up, perhaps. Yes, that was what he’d intended to do, to wake the indolent young man and repair him to his studies. 

  
  


-

  
  


As he waited for sleep to claim him, his traitorous thoughts circled endlessly around the image of Linhardt’s fingers on his lips, and it was only his iron control that kept his imagination from embellishing the memory.

  
  


-

  
  


The white ribbon was slowly losing purchase in Linhardt’s hair, end slipping from the heart of the bow towards the ground as the younger man stifled a yawn with his delicate hand.

Though the lecture was on dark magic, a topic Hubert usually found quite fascinating, his attention kept drifting to that ribbon. It was uneven, untidy, unusual on his generally fastidious classmate - at least for his waking hours. He wanted to tell the boy to correct it, _to watch his dexterous fingers slide through that shining hair..._

**_No_ **, he corrected himself, resetting his gaze to the professor,

_...or better yet, untie it himself, tangling his fingers in the hair at his nape, using the purchase to pull Linhardt’s head back and expose his alabaster throat._ So _many_ uses for that ribbon. _To wrap it around his own fingers and tease Linhardt’s lips with it, repeating the image that had fixated him so. Brush that soft fabric over his neck, down his chest..._

**_What are you doing_ ** , he scolded himself, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached, _entertaining lewd thoughts during the school day, while sitting right beside Lady Edelgard!_ And about Linhardt, no less, a youth he’d never found more than a layabout wastrel until he’d observed him in his unbearably sensual repose.

He picked up his pen again and began to focus intently on the professor’s words and his own notes, tuning out the dreamy sighs of his classmate on the verge of sleep.

  
  
  


After the lecture, he remained seated, carefully condensing his notes into a single page. Scattered phrases copied from the Professor’s words were useless on their own, but written out, they became a meaningful reference document. It also served the purpose of keeping his attention fully on the page, filtering out unnecessary chatter. He had no need for Dorothea’s fawning, Ferdinand’s boasts, or to watch the easy way Linhardt smiled at their professor.

  
  
  


Finally the room was silent, his notes were completed, and he rose to make his exit.

His traitorous eyes scanned over Linhardt’s bench, and he felt his pulse stir at the sight of the white ribbon, not fully free from its delicate bow, fallen to the floor. Without a thought, his fingers snatched up the cloth, sliding thumb and forefinger over the satin. This is what his skin must feel like; smooth, untouched. He slid the ribbon over his own cheek, his lips, inhaling the scent of Linhardt’s hair, pine and clean linens. 

He should really bring it back to him. Nevermind that Linhardt was likely taking his afternoon nap by now, asleep somewhere in the monastery. Beautifully, vulnerably asleep. So trusting. 

It would be just terrible for someone to take advantage of that trust. Hubert should really make certain that no one did. 

  
  
  


Linhardt wasn't in the library, but in a shady spot by the dock. He was curled on his side underneath an enveloping willow tree, his uniform jacket folded as a pillow beneath his head.

His white undershirt was buttoned as securely as he kept his uniform, preventing any glimpses of exposed skin, and yet the rarely-exposed fabric was as tempting as lingerie.

The loose hair at his neck was sleek along his back and the ribbon was just asking to return to it. It would be strange, he thought, to leave the forgotten ribbon on his body, like a gift from a secret observer, someone leering at his sleeping form. And if he let it drop on the ground behind Linhardt, he'd likely never even notice it. 

He had no real choice but to tie his hair back in a bow. This wasn't an excuse to touch his smooth skin and silky hair, no, it was being… chivalrous.

He took a seat behind Linhardt on the ground, carefully studying the construction of the bow. Two loops twisted, threaded, and then the tails wrapped an additional time… yes, he could manage this. He untied the ribbon, and then reached up to gather a ponytail, allowing his fingers to brush bare skin. Even against the back of his fingers, it was thrilling, feeling the heat of him. He was touching the future Count without him even knowing it, gentle caresses he'd never have offered Linhardt von Hevring in the waking world. The hair came together in the security of the ribbon, as prim as if Linhardt himself had tied it. 

Instead of pulling back, his fingers lingered on Linhardt’s neck, featherlight in a way that pulled an involuntary shiver from the sleeping youth. Linhardt shifted, and then rolled fully onto his back, presenting a much fuller view - and Hubert held his breath, forcing the withdrawl of his hand, silently praying for his continued peace. 

He waited there, hairwidths from his desire, watching the youth’s chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm of slumber.

The touch hadn’t woken him, then. So he repeated the gesture, along the smooth skin of his jaw, eliciting another tremble. Was Linhardt enjoying his greedy investigations? His skin was beginning to flush, if that was any indication.

He took Linhardt’s cheek in one hand, cradling him as he brushed his own thumb over his lips, enchanted by their pliancy. As an unconscious response, Linhardt’s tongue peeked out from his lips to ease their tingling, and Hubert chased it with his forefinger, seeking first more access to his mouth, and then, as they enveloped him in their wet heat, to fuck into the access. Another slipped in eagerly, and Linhardt’s lips wrapped around the digits, almost suckling him, tongue soft beneath. 

Hubert knew he should retreat, but in this moment there was nothing in the world but the way he disappeared into his slick heat, pleasure spreading through him as if much more sensitive flesh was being ministered to. The thought that he could - that Linhardt might even beg him to - slide his cock between these soft lips, tangle his fingers in his hair. If he were gentle, it might not wake him. If it were rough, he might beg and plead - whether for his mercy or his pleasure didn’t much matter to Hubert.

A soft moan escaped around his fingers, and Hubert forced himself to slow his intrusion. It echoed again, a whine now as the fingers left his skin, chasing his withdrawl. The look of longing in his face surpassed that of any wanton in bathhouse frescoes, delicate blush painting his cheeks. 

He ventured a hand across Linhardt’s lap, finding him achingly hard in his trousers. It would be so easy to undo them, or even to - he ventured a slow stroke down, back up, and then a twirl of the thumb over where the head of his cock must be dewy for attention - to give the youth satisfaction in his dream. A merciful man would have done so, and so would a man with even a shred less of self-control. But Hubert was neither a merciful man nor a barbarian, so he withdrew his touch, prompting another shiver, a more urgent whine. Linhardt's hips canted up, seeking lost sensation, and his lips parted again.

Nor was he wise enough to fully deny himself, as he captured Linhardt’s lips with his own, his tongue seeking the path laid before it, peeking into that sweetness. He restrained the animalistic urge to pull the smaller body to his and rut upwards, kissing Linhardt through any protestations. He’d tie Linhardt’s wrists up with that pretty ribbon until he’d seen the wisdom - even the bliss - of allowing Hubert to have his way with him. 

No, he wanted the younger man to wake unsatisfied once he was gone, to be as distracted by unresolved lust as he’d spent every day since he’d first watched this surrendering slumber. He wanted him restless and aching to be touched.

He forced his own lips back before his fantasies overcame him and he awoke the man. It was the perfect distance to study his face, fresh-kissed and rosy. His lashes were dark and full, lips yearningly open and shining. His breath came in shallow pants, and he nuzzled gently into the hand still holding his cheek. 

Impossibly, he withdrew his touch, leaving him without further molestation. They were in the open, where anyone could see them, and if he let himself get too carried away, any audible protestations might be… inconvenient. 

He adjusted himself in his uniform trousers, careful to ensure that his altered state was none too obvious, and took a less-used route back to his room. It would have been unwise to encounter any of his classmates while he was thus consumed.

He should have kept that ribbon after all, so he could inhale the pine fragrance as he rubbed the silk over his cheek and brought himself off in his own hand.

  
  


-

  
  


A shadow fell across his post-lecture notes. When he glanced up from his methodical notetaking, he was met with Linhardt’s large eyes, open for once.

“What do you want?” he asked, tone sharp as his pen stilled in his hand. 

“I was wondering if… well, the Professor said something that referenced advanced maneuvers covered in the last lesson, which I… missed.” Linhardt sighed softly, eyes falling downcast to Hubert’s writing. “And seeing as you take such excellent notes, I was wondering if you’d be so kind, _ah -_ as to share them with me.”

Despite how interested Hubert had become with Linhardt’s body, he hadn’t fallen so far as to forget how irritating he found his personality. He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Would those notes provide you any incentive to actually attend your lectures, or simply reinforce that you are free to sleep through all of your obligations?”

“I knew you were going to say that,” he huffed, a pout on his insufferably plush lips. “There has to be something I can do for you, like - ” and fumbled, as if unable to think of anything at all to offer and already conceding defeat.

_If only you knew_ , he thought, and then chastised himself with a sharp scowl. “It isn’t a _favor_ I want from you.”

“Then _\- ?_ ”

“Join me at the training grounds at dawn tomorrow and I will instruct you myself,” he said, haughty, tucking away his unfinished notes from the latest lesson. “If you fail to meet me, I will assume you don’t deserve my assistance after all.”

“ _Dawn?_ ” he balked, and then after a casual toss of his curled bob and a huff of breath, “ _fine._ I suppose. If that’s the only way... I’ll see you then.”

As Linhardt retreated, Hubert cursed himself. Not only had he given away his morning to an appointment he couldn’t rely upon, but he’d set himself up for more infuriating comparisons between the passively sensual Linhardt of his stolen kiss and the layabout of the waking world. 

  
  


-

Many of the inhabitants of Garreg Mach were dedicated enough to rise even before dawn to begin their training, Hubert amongst them. He had come to prefer a section of the training grounds that the sunrise left in shadow, one that afforded him some privacy despite the popularity of the facilities. Sparring had never been his choice of training, much preferring to batter a target with spells and the occasional physical exertion, but this invitation had little to do with his own improvement. Instead, he meant largely to antagonize his classmate.

He was not expecting to turn a corner and see Linhardt seated beside his preferred training area, book on his lap in the near-dark, illuminated by a spare torch.

“You’re here. I would be impressed, were your normal hours less appalling.”

“Oh,” Linhardt yawned, “I wouldn’t credit my hours so quickly. I came to find where you trained, last night, and, I - “ and yawned again. “I haven’t actually slept.”

Hubert huffed an unkind laugh. “You trust yourself so little.”

“I knew you meant it, that you wouldn’t help me unless I - ” and his yawn came with a slow stretch of his arms out to the side, “ - kept the promise. And even if you’re a complete bore, your spellwork is brilliant.” 

“Quite the compliment,” he said, tone cool to hide his reaction to both the insult and the praise. “Come here. I suppose I owe you my half of the bargain.” 

  
  
  


Linhardt kept up with Hubert’s explanations just fine, but his usually graceful casting gestures suffered from his drowsiness. True efficacy of the Nosferatu spell required both a living enemy and a target for restorative energy, of course, and a training dummy could not provide the essence needed to bolster an ally, but the languorous and clumsy handwork the young mage was performing would never prove effective on the battlefield.

“You’re useless like this,” Hubert derided, stepping close behind Linhardt and taking his wrists in his hands. “You know well enough that you must mean what you wish to affect.” 

He guided Linhardt through the gesture needed to complete the spell, decisive and firm with his arms, even as his hips found home against the mage’s taut rear and he inhaled the scent he’d conjured so often from his memories. 

The spell fizzled in Linhardt’s hands, and he sighed, slumping back against Hubert’s shoulder, turning his head to make intimate eye contact.

“I don’t… I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he confessed, open and earnest, the hint of exhausted tears against his lower eyelid. 

“I know,” he heard himself saying, reassuring when he should be reinforcing the boy’s duty as a Count. “But this spell suits you. It hurts - and it heals. Tell me. Would you rather live or die on the battlefield?”

“I-” he fumbled, sagging back against Hubert’s strong support as arms encircled him, “I’d - I want to live.”

“Good,” Hubert rumbled, pulling Linhardt close, surprised by how badly he’d needed to hear that answer. “Try again. Target me. You have to get used to causing pain.”

“Hubert,” Linhardt intoned reverently, breath shallow. “I can’t - “

“You can. Do it. Take my health for your own.”

Linhardt’s hands trembled as he began to trace the path, but gained momentum, building to an arc that ripped vitality out of Hubert. The pain traced through his system, arcing from his heart through his veins, and he leaned heavily on the youth as he bore the injury, shuddering from the loss. 

“Yes,” he encouraged, “you have it.”

“Hubert,” Linhardt gasped, turning in his arms to catch him, holding fiercely to help him regain his footing. 

“I’m all right,” he protested, taking a step away to prove his stability.

“No, let me,” Linhardt argued, drawing a sigil with his hands and sending a wave of strength into Hubert’s body, restoring his constitution. 

As he stood tall in his restored vitality, Linhardt’s posture weakened as he began to lean to one side, corrected himself towards the other, and then -

\- he caught the man as he fell, an arm behind his slumped shoulders and brought him gently towards the ground, Linhardt draped elegantly over his bent knee like a princess in a faerie tale. 

Long lashes fluttered over fathomless blue eyes as Linhardt gazed up at him, dazed and intoxicatingly vulnerable.

“Hubert?” he whispered, gloved hand rising to caress his sallow cheek.

He couldn’t disguise the hunger in his expression, felt it plain as his lips formed a possessive smile, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the youth in his lap as he’d done by the docks, a meal for his consumption.

“It was real,” Linhardt breathed, weak with fatigue and building realization. “At the riverbank - I didn’t dream - “

Desire flooded Hubert like a tempest and he captured Linhardt’s lips with his, delving his tongue into his mouth without reservation. He allowed himself to grip the boy’s ponytail in his fingers, fist closing around the hair ribbon and using it as leverage to invade. It wasn’t until he felt dizzy with the loss of air that he pulled back to get a look at the object of his obsession. Linhardt’s pouty lips were bruised and parted, and his tongue wetted them as he met Hubert’s eyes.

“It could have been anyone,” he threatened, cruel as his transgression was exposed. “If you leave yourself so… _open_ \- ”

“I was - _asleep_ -” he protested weakly, stymied by his growing interest, gaze on Hubert’s mouth. “And you - _wanted_ \- while I couldn’t - _Goddess_ \- “

“ _Yes,”_ he confessed, capturing his prey in another lusty kiss. 

  
  
  


Thankfully they met no opposition on their return to Hubert’s quarters, though Linhardt did sag against him in fatigue as they neared his door. 

“Just a little further,” he encouraged with a dark whisper, and Linhardt managed to turn the doorknob in his delicate fingers, the effort of pushing the door open almost bringing him to trip to the carpet. 

Hubert, however, was at the height of his faculties, and caught the drowsy mage as he stumbled, locking the door behind them and guiding him to the bed.

“I’m exhausted,” Linhardt admitted, eyelids drooping and pupils blown wide with lust. 

“ _Good,_ ” Hubert growled, seeking the buttons on his classmate’s uniform. 

“You want me - _sleepy?_ “

“ _Yes_.” He practically tore the jacket off of him, stripping the shirt beneath until pale flesh lay before him, following that with the laces of his trousers. Once they were around Linhardt’s knees, he guided him to sit on the edge of the bed so he could kneel between his thighs and finish divesting him of his clothes. “I want you to lie on your back for me,” he rumbled, removing one boot after the other, “and let me touch you. Do you want that?”

A strangled moan escaped Linhardt’s lips as he lifted his thighs to ease Hubert’s removal of his trousers, his erection bobbing against his stomach. “I - I want to touch you, too.” His freshly bared fingers stroked Hubert’s hair back, exposing both of his eyes and searching his expression deeply, his own betraying anxiety close to fear. “I want to be good, for you.” 

To demonstrate, he surged forwards in an attempt to capture Hubert in a kiss, but his drowsiness made him only too easy to pin back to the sheets, Hubert’s gloved hands catching his bare wrists as he leaned over him. 

“If you want to be good,” he rumbled, confidence stemming from Linhardt’s obvious arousal, “you’ll accept the pleasure I deign to give you.”

Linhardt whined with desire, rolling his hips to instigate contact between his aching prick and Hubert’s firm thigh, caught between his desperate need to pursue pleasure and the lull of sleep. 

“Now,” Hubert whispered against his ear, freeing one hand so he could slip the ribbon out of Linhardt’s silken hair, “are you going to be good?”

A whimpered affirmative was all he needed. He stroked a gloved finger up Linhardt’s narrow wrist before binding them elegantly in white satin, repeating the bow he’d practiced at the riverbank. The very shape of it, the sensual curves he’d begun to stare at when behind the youth was almost as erotic as the body beneath him - chest rising and falling with ragged breath, flush of desire warming his pale skin. Pink nipples peaked with desire, eyes screwed shut.

Hubert couldn’t restrain himself from grinding against that taut stomach, slow and leisurely as he took in the realization of his recurring fantasies. He could finish himself just like this and be satisfied, or unlace and bring his cock to Linhardt’s lips, fucking into them at his own pace. Saving the rest of his classmate’s body for later exploration like a hard-earned reward.

Instead, he lay beside the youth, tracing his skin with gloved fingers. The barrier served to delay his own gratification while soothing Linhardt’s desperate tension, tight shoulders and arched hips relaxing into the mattress. He traced the gentle line of his arm down his side, cupping his pectoral and fondling softly, thumb teasing over the nipple.

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” Linhardt protested, voice heavy with drowsiness. “I want to feel it, please, Hubert, you touching me.” His chest rose against Hubert’s hand, an effort to return what he was given, but it was a token effort. 

“I can grant you that request,” Hubert agreed, burying his face in the hollow of Linhardt’s throat, inhaling deeply the clean scent of his hair. “This time.”

An eager gasp surprised him and he rewarded it by offering his gloved fingers to Linhardt’s lips. At first, he accepted them into his mouth, but as Hubert pulled them away to fuck back into him he caught the fingertips in his teeth, stripping the offending material from his hand. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, slicking his fingers in the heat of Linhardt’s mouth. “Waking up in my hands already aching?” 

Linhardt moaned for him, the same sound he’d offered around his fingers at the riverbank, and Hubert replaced his fingers with his lips. He kept the kiss slow, pulling away just as Linhardt began to open and holding just near enough that their lips brushed, teasing him with the promise of more. 

“Yes,” he begged, as much for his mouth as his promise. “Please, yes.”

“Waking to find yourself open around me?” He nudged Linhardt’s legs open and brushed slick fingers between his cleft.

“Goddess,” Linhardt pleaded, capturing Hubert in the kiss he’d been denying, hips eager at the promise of intrusion. 

Hubert delivered, then, pressing a single firm finger to his hole and teasing in agonizing circles before seeking entrance, thrusts never passing the tight ring of his muscles. The resistance of his body was a delicious contrast to the yielding of his mouth, but preparing him for Hubert’s substantial cock would take far longer than he truly had patience for in his current state.

Instead, he withdrew his hand and battled the laces of his own trousers, freeing himself to align his own aching prick with Linhardt’s. Drips of spend slicked the back of his hand as he stroked them together, rolling his own hips as if he were inside him. 

Desire won against sleep for his lover, who moaned encouragement at the contact, wrapping surprisingly flexible legs around his waist to pull him closer. He freed Linhardt’s cock from his hand to tease himself against his lover’s cleft instead, teasing bluntly against his hole and then dragging a slick trail up underneath his balls.

“You’ll wake up to find yourself open and sticky with my come,” he growled against Linhardt’s throat, sucking a dark bruise into his nearly translucent skin, ever more visible as the dawn light began to creep around the heavy curtains. “With your own.”

He returned his hand to Linhardt’s stomach, gathering the rest of his leaked precome and taking him in hand without distraction. Linhardt dug a heel into the small of his back in his quest for greater sensation, lip bitten in concentration as he chased his own pleasure. That or he was ashamed of the sounds that his teeth kept muffled, whines and groans that threatened to escape and alert the whole monastery. 

“You’ll ache when you smell me on your skin, your sheets,” he promised darkly, hand fast and slick, each slap of skin against skin evoking the sound of proper coupling. “When you dream - “ he groaned, hips stuttering as he rubbed himself on Linhardt, angling a thigh up to give himself more leverage, “ - those filthy dreams you have in public? It’ll be me every time.”

Linhardt parted his lips for a breath, only to cry out as orgasm overtook him, hips jerking unsteadily as he tried to maximise contact with Hubert, thighs and chest and prick seeking his touch. He rocked himself in eager little circles against Hubert’s hips as he shot his own spend across his stomach and even as he began to arch away from the sensitivity. Hubert was merciless, gripping his hip and rutting against his cleft, taking satisfaction in how Linhardt whined and shied away from the excess stimulation, chasing those moans until he felt himself pulsing, falling over the edge into release.

Orgasm dulled his possessive desire, and he slowed, hands supporting himself to survey his classmate as he settled into languor. His fantasies had never strayed to this part of their coupling, tied up in chasing Linhardt’s consent or his shameful submission, and he was surprised by how intoxicating the youth was in afterglow. It was even more enticing than simple repose.

A contented yawn was contagious, and Hubert found himself haphazardly stripping his own uniform and settling beside Linhardt, freeing his wrists from the satin ribbon. The youth allowed Hubert to arrange them back-to-chest and leaned sleepily against him, a perfect fit against the older man. Each inhale was filtered through pine-scented hair and sweat-slick skin. 

  
  


-

  
  


When he awoke, he was alone in his room, though Linhardt’s scent remained, sheets still damp with evidence of their earlier activities. 

Satisfied, even smug at his conquest, he lay back in the sheets to stretch languorously. It had been days since he’d slept so well, since before he’d spied Linhardt asleep in the library. An indulgent pass of his own hand down his body drew gentle, satisfied pleasure, until it brushed an unexpected texture at the base of his cock.

  
A satin ribbon, tied in - _yes_ \- the exact bow Linhardt used in his hair, a tangible promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This hasn't been picked over by a beta reader, so if there's an error, please let me know. I haven't finished a piece in several years, and while it feels incredible to hit "publish" on some smut I had fun writing, I'm a little anxious about being rusty.


End file.
